


the anvil of my sword

by octaviamatilda



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sexual Tension, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 13:54:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13637619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octaviamatilda/pseuds/octaviamatilda
Summary: A little something, for Sigurd -- towards whom I was suddenly feeling a little tender.





	the anvil of my sword

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bitter Boy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13261119) by [octaviamatilda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/octaviamatilda/pseuds/octaviamatilda). 



and I have nightly since  
Dreamt of encounters ’twixt thyself and me;  
We have been down together in my sleep,  
Unbuckling helms, fisting each other’s throat,  
And waked half dead with nothing.

Coriolanus, William Shakespeare 

 

‘Do you think that Sigurd really lies with other men?’ Hvitserk hauls himself up from the ground, and Ubbe follows. The sun is setting behind the pines and there is little light left to train by.

‘I don’t know.’ Ubbe quirks his mouth up at Hvitserk’s question. ‘Ask him yourself when we get back.’

Hvitserk scowls, gathering the blunt training swords under one arm. He is silent for a long moment.

‘Wouldn’t it hurt though?’

Ubbe shrugs, taking his quiver from the bowl of a tree. ‘Some men like a little pain with their pleasure.’

Hvitserk smirks, intrigued and only half incredulous. ‘How would you know?’

Ubbe snorts, and smiles. He dislodges the last arrows from the deer carcass and slides them into the leather. ‘Perhaps it is that way for Sigurd. Or, perhaps it doesn’t hurt at all, and he knows something we don’t.’

‘I just can’t understand why you would want to offer your arse to another man.’

Ubbe gives him a steady look. ‘Don’t tell me your prick never gets hard when you’re fighting.’

Hvitserk rolls his eyes good naturedly. ‘Of course it does. But that’s hardly the same thing.’

‘I know.’ Ubbe unstrings both of their bows with care as he speaks, minding his fingers. ‘But when you have a sword or an axe in your hand, and your blood is hot, and all you see is the warrior in front of you, and how he moves, and where he moves, and you know he wants you on your back in the dirt -- ’

Hvitserk is watching the side of his face closely, and Ubbe lets him wait for a breath before he turns to him with a wry grin, ‘ -- it excites you, doesn’t it? The risk that he might get what he wants? Perhaps, Sigurd enjoys that risk in a different way.’

Hvitserk raises an eyebrow. ‘Have you been offering _your_ arse to other men?’

Ubbe cuffs his brother around the head, barking out a laugh. ‘Shut up.’ Hvitserk staggers away, then trips back and shoulders Ubbe cheerfully. ‘Come on, the first candles will already be lit.’

Through the soft darkness of the woods, they amble silently, until a noise reaches them through the trees. It is the unmistakeable sound of bodies coming together, of grunting and groaning, and a sudden shout. 

Hvitserk smiles, his teeth bright in the waning light, and elbows Ubbe. ‘Over there.’ He begins to step away into the low brush, but Ubbe pulls him back. 

‘Don’t you think if they came out here that they wanted to be alone?’ 

‘I don’t care. I want to see.’ Hvitserk tips his head at Ubbe, challenging. ‘Don’t you?’

Ubbe makes no reply, only nodding Hvitserk on in front of him. They both know well enough how to track as silently as wolves, though there hardly seems a need. Whoever it is cannot be very heedful of any onlookers; they sound like pigs in a pen, huffing and bellowing. Ubbe and Hvitserk conceal themselves in the ferns, shoulders against a damp green trunk fallen in its old age. There is just enough of the dusk left to see by. 

Ubbe cannot keep the amusement out of his voice. ‘Well, that answers your question, doesn’t it?’

Sigurd is on his stomach in the leaves and moss, naked and glowing in the gloom, fingers clutching at the churned earth beneath him. A tall man, dark hair long down his back, is ploughing into him, his hand planted between Sigurd’s shoulders. They cannot see their brother’s face, but they can hear the pleasure calling from his throat; it is raw and strong, and Ubbe would never have guessed Sigurd could make such a noise. 

Ubbe looks at Hvitserk – he is open mouthed, staring at their brother being fucked into the forest floor. Hvitserk swallows, and turns to Ubbe’s gaze. He seems about to speak, when their attention is hooked by the sudden silence. The dark man is draped along Sigurd’s back, forearms on the ground and his face against Sigurd’s bright hair. Ubbe cannot distinguish the words in his quiet whisper, but their brother nods. 

Sigurd is given the space to turn onto his back, before his lover pulls his thighs up and slides into him again. His blonde head is thrown back, and the pleasure in his cry is so rich Ubbe has to look away. Hvitserk is rapt, and Ubbe tugs on his sleeve, mouthing the words he daren’t even whisper.

‘We should go.’ 

Hvitserk shakes his head vigorously, shoving Ubbe with one strong hand. The meaning is clear enough. _You go if you want._

Ubbe grasps Hvitserk’s tunic by the waist, and pulls himself against his brother’s side as he tangles a leg in Hvitserk’s and reels him closer. He puts his mouth against Hvitserk’s ear, murmuring as quietly as he can.

‘We shouldn’t be watching this. Let’s go.’

Hvitserk ignores his words, though he grips Ubbe’s shoulder hard. Sigurd is whining and gasping, and they both watch him choke on his breath when his hips are pulled up and his lover shifts his knees, and ruts in him, vicious and fast. 

‘It doesn’t look like it hurts.’ Hvitserk speaks low, his breath tickling the side of Ubbe’s face.

‘No.’ Ubbe regards Sigurd, being jostled and shunted and filled with another man’s prick. He looks helpless, and happy. ‘It doesn’t.’ 

Hvitserk’s hand disappears from his shoulder, and Ubbe feels his brother fumbling at the level of his hips. He looks down to see Hvitserk adjusting himself in his breeches. Ubbe is disregarding his own hard prick as well as he is able; his little brother shrugs at him and Ubbe cannot deny him a fond smile.

The dark has gathered so thickly that they can hardly see a few arms distance in front of them now. It is just enough. Sigurd’s lover is panting heavily, and when he keels forward and pushes his forehead against their brother’s chest, Ubbe knows he is spilling inside Sigurd. Hvitserk makes a small noise in his throat; unthinkingly Ubbe brings a hand up to the back of Hvitserk’s neck and clenches his fingers, and his brother ducks his hot forehead against Ubbe’s temple. 

Ubbe closes his eyes against the sound of Sigurd spending over his lover’s fist, and he finds Hvitserk’s ear again. ‘Now, we must go.’

Hvitserk nods loosely, and comes away silently when Ubbe drags him by the collar.

**Author's Note:**

> A little something, for Sigurd -- towards whom I was suddenly feeling a little tender.


End file.
